


turn off the shyness

by blackboxxremedy



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Forgive Me, I really don't know what else to tell you, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Playgrounds, Teenagers, have mercy on me, it's really a very soft fic, joe doesn't know that he has a thing for pete until he suddenly does, this is the first thing i've ever posted on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7092946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackboxxremedy/pseuds/blackboxxremedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Joe’s phone vibrates at two in the morning, he gets out of bed and start getting dressed without even checking the message. He’s done this enough by now to know that it’s Pete and that he wants to meet Joe at the playground, because that’s what it always is when Joe get a text in the middle of the night like this."</p><p>Joe and Pete meet up at a playground in the middle of the night, and everything is very normal until it just... isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. turn off the shyness

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first-ever piece on here, so please have mercy on me. Enjoy!!

When Joe’s phone vibrates at two in the morning, he gets out of bed and starts getting dressed without even checking the message. He’s done this enough by now to know that it’s Pete and that he wants to meet Joe at the playground, because that’s what it always is when Joe get a text in the middle of the night like this.

Joe gets dressed in the dark, yanking on the clothes he wore to school without much thought on whether or not they’re inside out or even on the right way. Knowing Pete, he probably wouldn’t even notice if Joe showed up completely naked, let alone if his shirt was on backwards, so Joe figures that it doesn’t matter all that much. It’s a good thing, too: two a.m. may be sort of like early evening for Pete Wentz, but for Joe Trohman (and most of America, for that matter), it’s the middle of the fucking night.

Basically, Joe’s just glad that Pete doesn’t expect him to be a fully functioning human being whenever they have these little meetings.

Joe slips out of his house like he has a thousand times before, barely even worried about getting caught at this point. He starts trekking to he and Pete’s usual meeting place, the neighborhood dormant around him: no cars on the street, no lights on in any of the houses... everything is still and quiet. It’s just Joe and the moonlight, and he doesn’t really mind at all.

When he gets to the playground, Joe can see a shadow flickering in the top of the jungle gym. The shadow is wearing a red hoodie, and when it stands still long enough, it looks rather Pete-shaped. As Joe stares up at his friend, he can’t help but wonder what he’s in for tonight. With Pete, meeting in the middle of the night can either mean adventure or disaster. Joe figures that they’ll either end up wandering down to the twenty-four-hour convenience store for chips and Red Bull or that he’ll have to listen to Pete mutter worrying statements from the mouth of the twisty slide. Either way, Joe’s probably going to be out until the sun rises, so he might as well just forget about being alert during class tomorrow.

“Joe Trohman!” Pete exclaims from the playground equipment, smile bright even in the semi-darkness. Joe can’t help but smile a little, too, even though he’s exhausted. Pete may have more quirks than most, but Joe can’t say that he isn’t a nice guy.

“Pete Wentz,” Joe declares companionably, moving to the little ladder bolted to the side of the jungle gym. The mulch inside the playground boundaries crunches in a familiar way under Joe’s feet as he goes to the little ladder that takes you up to the top of the jungle gym, and he can’t help but flash back to being a little kid for a second. Joe used to come to this place with his mom and his brother when he was little, and he’s always held a little bit of love for it since then, not that he’d ever admit that to anybody out loud...

As soon as Joe makes it to the top of the jungle gym, Pete is pulling him down, forcing Joe to sit with him on the cool metal near the opening of one of the slides. For the first time, Joe realizes that Pete has a bag of McDonald’s with him, along with a couple of sodas.

“Come on, man,” Pete says, pulling hamburgers and French fries out of the greasy paper bag, “let’s eat before it gets cold.”

And they do. Joe and Pete chew through a double cheeseburger and a medium fry each, their legs sprawled out comfortably in the mouth of the green two-lane slide Joe used to race his brother down in grade school. Pete prattles on about everything and nothing all at the same time while Joe sits beside him in companionable silence, eating slowly, just looking out at the dark, empty neighborhood. If he pretends hard enough, Joe can envision that he and Pete are the last people on Earth, that they have free reign over everything around them. No school, no jobs, no responsibilities- they can do strange things like this all the time if they want to. (Of course, it’s completely untrue, but the thought is nice.)

All at once, Joe comes out of his daydream and realizes that Pete’s suddenly quit talking. They’re done eating now, all of their trash abandoned behind them for the time being, and for a split second, Joe’s worried that he’s missed a question or something else that he was supposed to react to. But when he turns to look at Pete, all he’s met with his is his friend staring at him with a sort of soft look in his eyes. 

“What’s up, man?” Joe asks, looking Pete up and down. In all the time that Joe’s known him, in all the times that they’ve met up like this, Pete’s never looked at Joe this way. If Joe didn’t know any better, he would say that the look on Pete’s face was almost sort of affectionate. But, well… Joe just knows better than to think that way.

“Nothing,” Pete says quietly, never breaking eye contact once. “I was just thinking about how good of a friend you’ve been to me.” Pete’s face splits into one of his famous shit-eating grins. “Not many people I know would sneak out of their house in the middle of the night just to come eat McDonald’s with me in the top of a piece of playground equipment.”

Joe grins back. “Yeah, man, and there’s also not many people that can stand you for more than ten minutes at a time.”

Pete punches Joe in the arm, but it’s a soft hit. “Shut up, dude, I mean it. You’re a good guy.”

For some reason, that makes something warm and light stir in the pit of Joe’s stomach. “Thanks, man,” Joe says, and God, is his face hot? He prays that he isn’t blushing, or at least that it’s too dark for Pete to see him clearly.

“I like hanging out with you,” Pete declares, turning to look out at the empty streets. Joe feels something brush against his hand, and when he looks down, he sees Pete’s fingers touching his own. It makes his heart race, and Joe can practically feel himself doing a nosedive into the uncharted territories of his mind.

“I like hanging out with you, too,” Joe whispers, and in a move that comes as a surprise even to himself, he grabs Pete’s hand gently. There’s no entwining of fingers, no palm-to-palm contact- Joe’s way too out of his depth for any of that right now- but he knows exactly what the twisting feeling in his stomach means as soon as their skin touches.

Pete ever so slowly manipulates his hand until he and Joe are holding hands properly, and maybe he can hear how erratic Joe’s breathing has become, because Pete gives his hand a solid, reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he tells Joe softly, and it is. Joe’s a little (see: a lot) nervous, and his head is spinning with a million new thoughts and notions, but yeah. It’s okay.


	2. 'cause all of the moves make up for the shyness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pete and joe have another late-night meeting, this time with even better results

When Joe hears tapping at his bedroom window at two o’clock in the morning, he gets out of bed and goes to the sill without so much as flinching. He knows who’s there before he even looks outside, because there’s only one person that would pull this shit at this hour: Pete fucking Wentz, his friend (who could possibly be more than a friend…?) and the reason behind most (see: ninety-nine-point-nine percent) of Joe’s sleepless nights.

Pete’s grinning when he sees Joe on the other side of the glass, and while that makes Joe’s heart flutter a little, he tries not to break his composure. “What the fuck,” he states, not at all angry or even irritated, because honestly, this isn’t the weirdest thing Joe’s ever witnessed Pete do. In fact, for Pete, this is pretty tame. Really, Joe’s just surprised that Pete doesn’t food with him like he usually does when the rendezvous late at night like this.

“Aw, Joe, come on,” Pete says, laughing a little as he climbs into Joe’s bedroom. He flips down the hood of his jacket, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought that maybe paying you a visit would help me mellow out a little.”

Joe arches an eyebrow, and Pete just claps him on the arm. But then his touch softens, along with his eyes and voice. “I wanted to see you,” Pete says, voice low and almost husky in a way. A soft flame ignites in Joe’s chest, and he can feel himself flush; suddenly, he’s thankful for the darkness of the room.

“That’s… that’s cool,” Joe says absently, because he’s the biggest idiot on this Earth. Thankfully, Pete sides against teasing him and just flashes one of his stupid smile before moving to plop down on Joe’s bed.

“You’ve got yourself a pretty nice bed, Joe Fro,” Pete declares as he lays down, spreading his arms out across Joe’s comforter. His shirt rides up a little, exposing just a little three-inch strip of skin right above the waistband of his jeans, but it’s enough to make Joe’s mouth go dry. He tries not to stare too much, but Pete catches him looking anyway. 

Joe isn’t sure whether he wants to kiss Pete or kill Pete when his when he smiles tauntingly and runs his hand down his stomach, but either way, the fact that Joe wants to touch Pete right now more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life is a sure thing.

“Did you really want to see me?” Joe asks quietly even though he’s not sure he should. They never talked about it, the night they held hands at the playground, and Joe never really could figure out what all of it meant. The whole thing doesn’t even feel real, coming off as more of a jarring dream than actual reality when Joe thinks back on it. He’s known Pete make rash decisions, known him to have flings that don’t mean anything to him even though they look like some of the most epic romances possible from the outside, and Joe doesn’t want this to become that if it becomes anything at all.

Because really, Joe thinks he may actually be falling for Pete. It scares the shit out of him, but he is.

Pete sits up, suddenly more serious than he’s ever been since he ducked in through the window. The two of them look at each other for a few seconds, just studying one another idly, until Pete speaks.

“Yeah, I did,” he says softly, rising from the bed with more grace than Joe is used to seeing him conduct himself with. “I figured we could talk about some stuff.”

“In the middle of the night?” Joe asks, but he’s half smiling as he says it. Pete grins that grin of his back, but he isn’t reverting back to any of his usual dramatics for the time being.

“Yeah, Joe Fro, in the middle of the fucking night.” Pete still smiling as takes a step towards Joe, in his space. Joe gulps and shuffles his feet, but he certainly isn’t moving away. 

“You remember the last time we saw each other late like this?” Pete asks softly, and God, he’s taking another step closer to Joe, really up in his space now. Joe feels light-headed, and he has to check to make sure he’s not holding his breath or something.

Joe nods, speaking in a whisper. “Yeah. The playground. We…”

He trails off, too unsure of himself to finish his sentence. But Pete just nods, his hand on Joe’s face now.

“You were scared shitless,” Pete declares, and Joe immediately moves to defend himself, but Pete just barrels over him. “And that’s okay. I get it. I wanted to kiss you, but I knew that I couldn’t.”

“Is… Is that why you came here?” Joe feels like he’s speaking in a dream, voice far away from his ears. “To kiss me?”

Pete laughs a little, and for a hot second, Joe wants to jump out of his own window and just disappear for ever, run down the empty streets until he’s far, far away from the shame that’s burning in his chest- but then Pete tells Joe to come to bed with him, and suddenly, the only thing burning inside of Joe is his want of affection.


	3. i've got headaches and bad luck, but they couldn't touch you, no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pete leaves for soccer camp soon. joe's only mildly insecure.

For once in Joe’s life, when Pete taps on his window in the middle of the night, he’s actually expecting to see him there. Joe was actually the one that called for this little meeting, texting Pete a cryptic “I need to see you, I wanna talk” at an ungodly hour, knowing that he’s be awake to see the message and sneak out. Joe’s not sure Pete will ever sleep at night, but right now, Joe’s sort of thankful for that.

In hindsight, now that Pete’s here, Joe sort of wishes he’d never told Pete that he wanted to talk. His feelings and worries are completely stupid and unfounded, and Joe’s sure that Pete’s going to either laugh his ass off or be eternally offended after Joe tells him what the problem is.

“Hey,” Pete says, climbing into Joe’s room through the open window like he has a million times before. He’s chased by a puff of hot summer air, and Joe idly hopes that no bugs are following his boyfriend in as well. Pete steps around a little dirty laundry and Joe’s backpack in the darkness of the room, messy-haired and dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt. It looks like Pete may have actually been sleeping this time around when Joe texted him, and that makes Joe feel sort of bad. Pete never sleeps.

“Were you asleep?” Joe says quickly, afraid he’s maybe pissed Pete off by waking him up. Pete smiles soft and shakes his head, kissing Joe quickly. This helps to soften Joe’s nerves a little- but only just a little.

“No, dude, of course not,” Pete says, and his smile becomes a grin. “I’m the world’s greatest insomniac, remember?”

Joe has to force a smile, and Pete plops down on the floor and kicks off his shoes, cross-legged, a hand guiding Joe down with him. “So what’s up?”

Pete leaves for soccer camp in the morning, and it’s had Joe a wreck for a few days now. He was fine in the beginning, right up until one of Pete friends made a joke about how hot soccer players are and how easy Pete is, and now… now Joe’s worried that something’s gonna happen out there in Indiana, and he doesn’t want Pete to leave. It’s not that Joe thinks that Pete’s easy, necessarily, it’s just that, well… soccer players are hot, and Joe is not.

But as worried as he is, Joe feels like a fucking idiot now that he’s got Pete sitting in front of him, smiling and looking at Joe like he’s the reason the fucking sun comes up in the morning. So, Joe tries to just make the whole thing go away.

“Nothing’s up,” Joe says, and he’s kissing Pete now, crawling in his boyfriend’s lap and pulling at Pete’s shirt. And no one’s more surprised than him when Joe purrs, “Just wanted to lure you up here so I could give you a proper goodbye.”

Joe’s only taking this route because he knows that 98% of Pete’s decisions are made with a consultation from his dick- and Pete’s dick usually has very selfish opinions about what should be done in a situation, especially in circumstances like this. But tonight, Pete’s not falling for Joe’s attempt at a coverup.

“Babe, you said you wanted to talk,” Pete mumble, and he’s actually tugging the hem of his shirt out of Joe’s hands (which hurts Joe more than he knew it could). “Besides, you gave me a pretty good goodbye earlier today. We’ve got time for both.”

And goddammit, Joe and Pete did have a pretty good goodbye fool-around session this afternoon at Pete’s house. Joe just can’t win for losing here, and he also can’t understand why Pete’s so dead-set on talking. Pete usually hates talking, or at least he does when he could be getting off instead.

“Don’t wanna talk, just wanna get on you,” Joe mumbles, and it’s desperate in all the wrong ways. Pete physically pushes Joe off of him, not hard, but hard enough for Joe to understand that this isn’t going away, that Pete’s not letting him out of this one.

“Joe,” Pete says firmly, but with an edge of concern to his voice. “What’s wrong? None of this is like you.”

And it’s not. Joe’s never this forward, never tells Pete he wants to talk just to get him to come over. 

Joe doesn’t play games- he doesn’t even know how to- and Pete knows that.

“You leave tomorrow,” Joe says pitifully, defensively, because he doesn’t want to say what’s really on his mind. Doing that would either hurt Pete’s feelings or piss him off, and those are the last things that Joe wants to do.

“Yeah, I know,” Pete says. He touches Joe’s face, and Joe can’t help be cuddle against his hand. “And I’ll be back. But what’s gotten into you about it? It’s just soccer camp.”

“The guys,” Joe blurts, and wow, maybe he is going to admit what’s really bothering him, at least involuntarily.

“Which guys? Andy and Patrick? What did they do?” Pete looks confused, eyebrows drawn together- even more so when Joe shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly, but then his voice drops a little, “the guys at the camp.”

“What are you-?” And then it seems to dawn on Pete because he just says, “Oh,” his hand dropping from Joe’s face. Joe looks at him, burning with more shame than he’s ever felt in his life, and Pete just stares at him for a long, agonizing second.

“What makes you think I’d even hook up with any of those guys at that camp? Do you not trust me or something?” And Jesus, he sounds hurt and vaguely angry, exactly what Joe didn’t want.

“No, no, no,” Joe says quickly, panicked now with tears pricking in his eyes. “No, I trust you completely just- just those guys who play soccer are always so hot, and- and I’m… I’m not.”

That seems to take Pete aback, but at least the look on his face softens a little. “Joe, you’re very hot,” Pete says, head cocked.

“Not like those guys though. They have muscles and they run fast and they always have good hair-”

Pete’s laughing now, and that makes Joe feel hurt for a few seconds. But then Pete kisses him softly, thumb running along Joe’s jaw, and Joe can’t help but feel a little better. Pete’s grin is massive when he pulls away. “Baby, I don’t give a fuck about those soccer guys, or their muscles, or their hair. And neither should you. I like you, and your body, and your hair, and I seriously doubt that anybody could be hot enough to make me falter in my commitment to you and your pretty eyes. Got it?”

It’s not exactly an outright admission of love, but...

“I got it,” Joe says quietly, and it feels like his ribcage is filled with a hundred butterflies.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
